Читать книгу One Ticket To Texas - Jan Hudson, Jan Hudson - Страница 7

Prologue

“In your dreams, Buster!” Irish Ellison slammed the front door and stalked back to the den of the Foggy Bottom town house where her two roommates sat watching TV. “Men,” she groused, toeing off her high heels and plopping down on the couch next to Olivia.

“I take it that you and the senator’s staffer are having some problems,” Olivia said, offering Irish the popcorn bowl.

“You take right.” She plunged her hand into the buttery kernels and popped a few in her mouth. “The jerk.”

“What’s wrong?” Kim asked. “Gavin seemed very nice. I thought the two of you had something going.”

“I thought so, too—untit he hit me up for a loan. Can you believe it? The skunk takes me to a couple of embassy parties, wines and dines me with free booze and free food, and then tries to borrow money from me.”

Kim’s eyes grew even larger behind her thick glasses. “He didn’t?”

“He did. He’s behind on his alimony.”

“I didn’t even know that Gavin had been married,” Olivia said.

“Neither did I.” Irish propped her feet on the coffee table. “Until tonight. Seems that he’s been married not once, but twice, and he has four kids. Why do I always end up with somebody else’s rejects? You’re the psychologist, Olivia. What’s my problem?”

Olivia, the oldest of the three—and considered the wisest—raised her brows at the former model who had legs up to her armpits, bone structure that most women would die for and a shining fall of hair that was naturally a magnificent shade somewhere between strawberry blond and copper. “I don’t have my Ph.D. yet, but as far as I can tell, you don’t have any major problems, Irish. It’s this town. Washington has a dozen gorgeous single women vying for every available man—and even some that aren’t available. If you’re interested in meeting men, you’ve picked a bad place to settle.”

“I didn’t pick D.C. I’m only here because the jobs were drying up in New York and Aunt Katie left me this house. Maybe we’d better all move to Alaska. I understand that guys there are desperate for women.”

Neither Olivia nor Kim mentioned the third reason that Irish had fled the Big Apple.

“I’m not interested in meeting men,” Olivia said. “Been there. Done that.”

Irish turned to the TV where Marilyn Monroe filled the screen. “What are we watching?”

“How to Marry a Millionaire,” Kim said.

“Now there’s an idea that appeals to me. My mama always said, ‘It’s just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one.’”

“I thought that your father was a butcher.”

Irish waved off the comment. “Mama was a slow learner.” Her eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward, staring at a young Lauren Bacall. “I didn’t have her kind of luck in New York. I wonder where one goes nowadays to find millionaires—the kind that are good-looking, single and itching for a meaningful relationship?”

“Texas.”

Irish and Olivia turned to Kim, who at twenty was the youngest member of the household. “Texas?” they echoed in unison.

“Sure. My...boss is a millionaire and from Texas.”

“But your boss is a woman. Remember, Congress-woman Ellen O’Hara.”

“Yes, but she has a couple of younger brothers and two cousins who are single and rolling in dough.”

“Fat and bald, right? And short?”

Kim grinned. “Nope. Not the ones I’ve seen. They’re quite good-looking. And tall. Want me to borrow their photographs from the office and bring them home?”

“Not for me,” Olivia said. “I’m not interested.”

Irish sat up. “I am. I’ll be thirty next February. I’d like to be snuggly settled into a nice Dallas mansion and driving a Beemer by my birthday. I’m sick of selling cosmetics at Macy’s and trying to hustle freelance articles on beauty tips to keep up the payments on my little car. Which one of her brothers is tall, dark and the richest and the most handsome?”

Kim cocked her head. “Well, that probably would be Jackson, but he doesn’t live in Dallas. Although the cousins...”

“Enough said. Jackson it is. How do I meet this guy?”

Olivia looked aghast. “You can’t be serious. You wouldn’t judge a potential husband simply by the size of his bank account.”

“I wouldn’t? Pray tell, why not?”

“What about love?” Kim asked. “What about passion?”

“What about it? Passion is vastly overrated. I want security in my old age. Besides, I find money very sexy.” Irish glanced at the movie, then watched intently for a few minutes. As the story unfolded, wheels and gears spun to life in her head. With a devilish gleam in her eyes, she turned to her roommates and said, “We need to map out a strategy.”